Crusoe fumbled through the jungle, spinning his wedding band absentmindedly on his finger. He bumped into Friday who joined him on the trail with a small deer slung over his shoulder.
"Sorry, Friday," the blonde muttered. He stepped over a trap without breaking stride. "I was just thinking."
"For you that could be a very dangerous thing," Friday joked as he matched Crusoe's pace. "Are you thinking about the new shelter? I would much prefer to sleep in a tree house like before." Crusoe chuckled, shaking himself from his reverie.
"So would I. It's not much fun sleeping on the ground. Or that comfortable." He elected not to elaborate, seeing as he'd never shared his early shipwrecking days with Friday. There were some things he wasn't quite up to discussing just yet, even after their years of companionship. He failed to suppress a shudder as he remembered huddling around a meager fire on what he now dubbed Susannah's Bay, cradling his musket and flinching from frenzied animal calls in the darkness. If Friday noticed his moment of weakness, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he pressed further.
"So what is your big plan in rebuilding the shelter? I know how much you like your inventions, although sometimes they're more trouble than they're worth." This earned him a hearty jab to his side and a look of feigned exasperation from the Englishman.
"For your information, I do have a plan. Well, half a plan," Crusoe replied as he quickened his pace down the path. He crossed a rope bridge-one of the few inventions that hadn't been sabotaged by Blackthorne's men-and raised his arms skyward. "Here!" he exclaimed proudly, turning to face his companion.
"I see trees, Crusoe, much like the rest of the island."
"Look closer, my friend. These trees will be the perfect foundation for our new tree house. There's an underground spring not far from here, and we're closer to the shore so we can see incoming ships and-" Crusoe paused midway as Friday left his side and started circling the trees with interest. The blonde shrugged and followed his lead. "We can still salvage some of the parts from our last shelter. With the two of us, within a week we should have a basic floor plan set up and maybe a crude pulley system if I can find enough rope-"
"Crusoe."
"-Of course, today we'll only have time to prepare the deer meat, but I've already started a few sketches of the layout-"
"Crusoe!"
"-And there's a lot of shade for Dundee, as long as he doesn't get into that berry patch. You know as well as I do how upset his stomach gets if he eats it-"
"CRUSOE!" Friday snapped, pulling the excited figure to one of the trees. He pointed to the harsh lines carved into the bark. "This is bad. We cannot stay here."
"But-the tree house!"
"This island is full of trees. We can find another spot," Friday declared as he backtracked quickly. He dragged the fussing blonde behind him as he hastened his steps.
"Friday, what is it? They're just scratches. Sure, they're too high for a boar to have made but some other animal must've-"
"No, Crusoe. That was a symbol. A manmade marking. We cannot go back."
Crusoe huffed in annoyance and stopped abruptly, nearly causing Friday to stumble and drop the deer.
"What is it? Why are you so scared?" His companion hesitated, his gaze falling back on the perfect grove they'd left behind.
"I have been to many places, Crusoe. Because of my father's status, I have met many friends. And enemies."
"Okay, so the marks on the tree. You recognized them?"
"No, I didn't. That is what frightens me."
"You're getting scared over nothing. Look, I'll prove it to you. I'll camp here tonight and see if our little friends come back. And when no one shows up, you'll see how foolish this whole thing is." At this, Friday clasped the Englishmen tightly by his shoulders.
"You need to listen to me, Crusoe. If this is a new tribe, then they will not abide by the traditional teachings. They could be dangerous."
"Like the headhunters?" Crusoe ventured, trying to quell the uneasy feeling that came with the memories of almost dying at their hands. His companion gave a curt nod.
"Possibly. Or something much worse." Crusoe stole one last, solemn look at the grove before heading back to the rope bridge.
"Okay, you win, Friday. Tomorrow I'll find another place to build the tree house. But I'm not doing this because I believe in your superstitions."
"Of course not, Crusoe," Friday smirked. The pair fell into easy conversation as they retraced their steps until a sharp cry tore from the blonde's lips.
"The bridge!" he exclaimed as he knelt beside the sheer drop and held the frayed remains of the rope in his hand. He exchanged worried glances with Friday. "Someone's cut the bridge. We're being followed."
Friday hunched his shoulders and sighed, laying the deer down. Whoever was out there might see it as a peace offering and leave them alone. Hopefully.
"Where do we go now, Crusoe?" Friday prompted. The Englishman cursed.
"We can't GO anywhere. Our bridge is out!" Friday barely managed to resist rolling his eyes.
"You've been on this island a lot longer than me. You built most of these bridges and silly contraptions yourself. Is there another bridge we can use?" he asked. Crusoe rocked back on his heels and put his head in his hands, thinking.
"I don't know. I constructed this bridge years ago, after I first arrived. Mostly because I thought I might use the underground spring nearby. I only rediscovered this grove last week when I was trying to scout a place for our new home."
"Crusoe, how is it that you remember the exact dress Susanna was wearing when you last saw her, but not this part of the island?" Friday expected Crusoe's knee jerk reaction as his friend leapt to his feet and stalked over to him.
"That's different and you know it!"
"I do. But you were in one of your moods and I need you to focus on getting us out of here. And it was a good way to get you away from that snake." Crusoe nearly jumped out of his skin and staggered backwards in terror, away from the remnants of the broken bridge. The last time he'd been bitten by a snake, he'd had a bad reaction to the venom and was bedridden for a week. He flinched when he saw the lithe creature weave its way further into the undergrowth.
They heard an audible snap and both men lifted their gaze to the canopy above. A handful of colorful birds chirped and fluttered at the disturbance.
"Someone's hiding in the trees," Crusoe whispered, his entire body tensing. He exchanged glances with Friday. "What do you think? Run? Stay? Strike up a conversation?" An obsidian arrow embedded itself at the blonde's feet.
"I don't think he's in the mood for talking, Crusoe!" Friday replied.
"Run it is, then!" Crusoe decided. The men navigated smoothly through the underbrush and wove their way around the tree with the strange marking. Another arrow zipped through the leaves, nicking Crusoe in the neck. The Englishman cursed his blonde hair and pale skin as he pressed a hand to the throbbing cut. His physical appearance made him a far easier target than his companion who, despite their dire situation, was holding back a smirk. Crusoe inspected his shirt. DAMN. It was the white one.
After a few more harrowing minutes cowering from the handful of arrows keeping the pair running in a direction of the archer's choosing, Crusoe faltered and had to grip Friday's arm to steady himself. He took a second, shaky step forward before his knee buckled and sent him crumpling to the forest floor. A heavy exhaustion settled into his limbs and it was all he could do to stand up again at Friday's insistence. The dark haired man wrapped an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to keep him upright.
"Crusoe! We must keep moving. Crusoe?" He inspected the slight cut to Crusoe's neck. Poison. It was the only explanation for the blonde's condition. Crusoe quickly came to the same conclusion.
"He must've poisoned the arrow," he wheezed. "Ugh. If I knew this was going to happen I would've let that stupid snake bite me instead." Friday hauled him further through the flora.
"Would you like for me to go back and find that snake for you again?" he joked. Crusoe laughed weakly.
"Only if you can get rid of our little friend first." Friday's reply –"Working on it"—was less than comforting.
Crusoe couldn't keep up the pace much longer. They both knew this, yet the Englishman wisely kept his mouth shut for once, for he knew Friday would reject any plan that involved leaving him behind. A cacophony of voices filled the air, seemingly swirling around them. Crusoe flinched from the taunts even though he couldn't make out the language. They were surrounded. They were doomed. Friday, however, continued to pick his way through the dense foliage without a second glance.
"Friday, it's hopeless." Crusoe stopped and broke from Friday's grip. He slumped against a nearby tree until he was sitting at its base. "They're everywhere." Sometimes Friday couldn't believe it when Crusoe claimed he was an educated man.
"It is just one man. He's throwing his voice around to trick us. It seems to be fooling you well enough." Crusoe's face turned as pale as his white shirt.
"He's WHAT? Friday, if this is one of your superstitions—"
"Men like him can manipulate their vocal chords to produce the sound. One of the hunters in my tribe could do it as well."
"And WHY didn't you learn this trick? I can think of a thousand times it would've been helpful!"
"You know what would also be helpful, Crusoe? Remembering a way off this part of the island!" Friday retorted. He attempted to pull the blonde to his feet, but the limp body resisted.
"I can't move, Friday," Crusoe muttered. Friday pressed a callused palm against the damp forehead and felt the fever boiling underneath. Crusoe shivered against the touch. The dark-haired man withdrew his hand with a sigh.
"Then there is only one thing left to do." He unsheathed his machete and crouched protective in front of the Englishman. Crusoe strained his ears for a noise—any noise—and heard nothing. He released a shaky breath.
"It's okay. He's gone. Finally." Any relief he felt was short lived as his closest friend shook his head.
"No, Crusoe. He's got us right where he wants us."
As if on cue, the onslaught of voices returned louder than ever. Crusoe cringed, too weak to bring his hands up to cover his ears, and had to resign himself to resting his head against the bark. This couldn't possibly be the work of one man. Friday had to be joking.
Snap.
"Friday..." He gasped, voice barely above a whisper. He caught sight of his companion lunging forward with the machete before his vision blurred into a senseless kaleidoscope of colors. He tried, unsuccessfully, to shrug off his white tunic as rivets of sweat beaded down his neck.
Another snap then a rustle of clothing. The Englishman felt a strong pair of hands hoist him to his feet. Thank God, he thought. His body instinctively leaned into the touch. Friday. The hands then threw him across the man's shoulder, apparently satisfied with the unresponsive prey. Friday? FRIDAY? Where's Friday? Those were his last, jumbled thoughts before he slipped into oblivion.
His whole body ached. That was his first thought as he opened his eyes blearily into an inky sky. He tried to sweep his bangs from his face, but found his wrists were tied tightly behind him. Sitting up became an issue as well when he smacked his forehead into a hard beam.
"Quiet! Are you trying to lure them back over here?" came Friday's agitated warning. Crusoe maneuvered carefully toward the sound of his friend's voice, quickly realizing he was trapped in a roughly hewn cage half his size. Friday's dismal response seemed to suggest he was in the same predicament.
"What happened?" he asked stupidly before his mind could catch up with the situation. Friday sighed in irritation.
"YOU happened, Crusoe. You and your ridiculous plan to build a tree house HERE, of all places. If you had just gone hunting with me instead of showing off, we wouldn't be in this situation now." Well...he had a point. Crusoe was too tired to argue.
"Fine, yes, it's all my fault."
"And...?" The Englishman couldn't help a twitch of a smile.
"And I'll make you new arrows for an entire month."
"And...?"
"I have a plan." This was a lie. His friend didn't buy it either. "Well, okay, NOT YET, but I will." Crusoe managed to prop himself upright and faced Friday through the immobile bars. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and let feverish dreams whisk him into their sweet embrace. The canvas of stars did little to comfort him, as they had on so many nights when he imagined Susannah and the children looking up at those very same stars.
"I'm glad you are awake, Crusoe. You were sleeping for hours," Friday admitted, his tone a touch softer than before. The blonde chuckled despite himself.
"A little beauty sleep never did any harm." He tapped experimentally at the edges of the cage. "Whoever made this is smart. We won't be getting out of these anytime soon."
"That does not sound like a plan," Friday grumbled. The blonde shrugged.
"We're not giving up just yet. What happened while I was unconscious?"
"The man brought you to his tribe. I tried to free you." This garnered Crusoe's full attention and he leaned forward slightly.
"You used your machete, didn't you? How many did you fight off before-" Friday shook his head slightly.
"Not like that. I talked to them." The Englishman gripped the sides of the rigid enclosure in surprise.
"You WHAT? Friday, these men are anything but civilized! You can't reason with them!" Friday pursed his lips.
"They are still men, Crusoe. But they do not think you are one." The words pierced the blonde's pride like a heated knife.
"Okay, that's a little unfair! If it had been a fair fight I would've held my own, but that man cheated! He poisoned me!"
"You misunderstand," Friday said with an amused smile. "They do not think you are a man because of your skin. They have never seen someone like you before."
"Well, did you tell them that I AM a man?" Crusoe pried. Friday avoided his gaze with a noncommittal shrug. "FRIDAY."
"I did, Crusoe. Many times. But they did not believe me."
"Then what do they think? That I'm a ghost? A demon?" Crusoe scowled.
"No. They believe you are the physical reincarnation of a curse that was placed on me. They believe that if I don't kill you, then you will devour them all." Crusoe sat in shocked silence. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up in a don't-care-how-I-look-but-damn-I'm-so-fine kind of way. A pair of heavy footsteps padded across the sand, kicking some in the Englishman's face before unlatching a section of the cage and pulling him out. Crusoe's only defense was to wriggle on the ground until the savage men hoisted him up and drug his leaden body to their makeshift encampment. Friday was politely unlocked, wrists unbound, and offered a small snack and some refreshments.
"FRIDAY! FRIDAY!" Crusoe bellowed as the grip on his upper arms tightened painfully.
"You might want to call me something else, Crusoe. That name sounds too close to another word in their native tongue." Friday sounded apologetic and, to his credit, declined the offered food. Crusoe grit his teeth in exasperation.
"Well, what does 'Friday' mean, then?" He received a harsh shove in return.
"Death." Oh great.
"So they think I've been shouting 'death' this whole time?!"
"Just call me something else, Crusoe. I would prefer my real name but you lack the intelligence to pronounce it." Crusoe rolled his eyes, knowing Friday wasn't seriously trying to give him a hard time. He dug his boots in the sand, tripping up his bodyguards.
"Fine. How about warrior?" Smack.
"That means blood."
"Alright, then. Hunter?" Punch.
"And that is plague." This was getting ridiculous.
"Machete?" Kick.
"To die in a horrible and merciless maze of darkness."
"OKAY, WHY DONT YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT I CAN SAY SO THAT THEY STOP BEATING ME UP?" Crusoe snapped. Friday smiled, holding back a chuckle as they neared a large fire; presumably the chief's.
"How about you call me 'friend'. We are friends, are we not, Crusoe?"
Friend. Of course. Not only friends, but brothers. Crusoe nodded.
"Until the end." And, he thought dismally, this very well could be his last day on Earth, as his sickly body was thrown in front of the fire pit around a circle of jeering faces. Susannah. The children. Would he really never see them again? Friday, as if reading his mind, moved forward to stand by his side but the warriors flanking him held him back.
"We will find a way, Crusoe. You will see them again." The blonde let his forehead rest against the sand in defeat as his trembling body followed. This time, he wasn't so sure.